


Promises, Promises

by foolishmortal



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Underage, Angst, Dubious Consent, Insecurity, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Self-Sacrifice, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:09:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishmortal/pseuds/foolishmortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out, Terrans are a bit more delicate than most other species in the galaxy and not everyone could be charmed to his point of view. Every time things seemed like they were going south in a way that was leading to the inevitable, Peter made sure he got there first. He batted his eyelashes and smiled knowingly and outright got down on his knees and reached for the other guy’s zipper if that’s what it took to get the message across;<br/>Peter Quill will fuck you if you let his friends go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Peter's age is left ambiguous in the first chapter so this could be read as not underage if you'd prefer, but it was written with him aged 14ish in my mind.  
> Please note, later chapters may include possible self harm/reckless self endangerment as a symptom of Peter's low self worth.  
> I'm not really a natural writer but I've been wanting to give it a go for a while so (kind) constructive criticism is welcome :)

The first time hadn’t really been his choice. Not _really_.

It his first job with the ravagers, his first _real_ job anyway. Away from Yondu and Kraglin and the safety that being the captain’s pet Terran had provided him. He knew it wasn’t like that of course; for all Yondu had kept Peter around when he was little and not much use to anyone, and had saved him from being lunch (and heaven help those crew members who thought the little Terran kid would be a good snack), the captain seemed pretty keen for him to actually be a decent ravager one day.

Yondu had spent a bunch of time explaining how to pick pockets, how to pull off a good con, and how to not get his ass entirely handed to him in a fight, and Peter had mastered it all. He was ready for a proper mission. (Okay… so he was still working on the fighting one… Kraglin had said he reckoned Peter might not be full grown yet, so there was still some hope he might get better...)

He’d done some asking around the crew and, at first, no-one had wanted to have him along. It’d stung a bit when Feax had laughed right in his face and told him outright that he’d just be in the way. He knew he wasn’t anything special, but he’d been getting better. He’d been really trying.

Eventually, Porath, (one of the oldest ravagers and the closest thing they had to a cook, on account of the fact he was too old to do much else) had taken pity on him, and said that he could come along on his next supply run.

Yondu hadn’t wanted to let him go, but Peter had been sure to ask him in front of some of the more… ‘restless’ members of the crew; Yondu’d had no choice but to say yes, lest the grumbling about ‘the brat not earning his keep’ turn into something more decisive and mutinous. Yondu had warned him to keep out of the way and let Porath do all the talking, but he'd actually seemed pleased that Peter was doing something useful for a change.

And, after all, it was a simple supply run, so how bad could it really go wrong?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It went really bad.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The deal itself had been a pretty dull affair. Units had been exchanged, hands had been shaken, and boxes of protein substitute and ration bags loaded into the hold of Porath’s ship. The boxes were heavy and his hands were scraped and bruised by the time he'd got the last of them onto the ship. It had had none of the illicit danger or thrilling heroics Peter had been hoping for.

Porath had even offered to take him out for an ice shake after, as a reward for working hard, before they headed back. It’d reminded Peter of being a little kid back on Terra, eating ice cream with his Grandpa, before his Mama had gotten sick. He’d said yes only after Porath had promised not to tell the others; he’d taken the job so he could prove that he was one of the ravagers proper and he reckoned trying to eat the little blue ice spheres, with the stupid implements this planet tried to call cutlery, while Porath laughed himself green was not going to impress Feax or the rest.

By the time they’d set off back to the ship, it was dark. They’d had to leave the ship out in the desert to avoid drawing attention to their deal, and Peter found the desert atmosphere strangely oppressive; the total absence of any stars in the blackness of the sky, even out here away from the bright lights of the city, seemed more alien somehow than the pale violet the sky had been in the day.

Distracted by his not-star gazing, Peter didn’t notice anything was wrong until Porath spoke.

“What’d _you_ want?”

Peter startled, eyes snapping back down to see a group of four mean-looking guys standing across the path they’d taken, blocking their way.

The biggest (and he was _big,_ bigger than Spix down in the engine room was, bigger even than Feax) laughed at Peter’s surprise, though his eyes, when they met Peter’s, were cold and dark with something else. Peter flushed and glanced away.

“I’d like you to put your weapons down nice and slow," His voice was gravely, like he'd been yelling too load and worn it out, "Then empty your pockets out. You do that and you can be on your way, old man.”

“You think you can rob me, boy?" Porath’s voice was calm and even, like it had been when he had given Peter a lecture on not running through the kitchens, after he tore open his knees when he was ten. "I been robbin’ folk since you weren’t nothin’ but a thought. Now, stand aside, let us pass, and we’ll not have to make a scene here.”

Peter wasn’t sure he’d even be able to open his mouth to speak. His heart was racing so fast in his chest he could hear its pulsing pressure in his ears. The big guy wasn’t looking at him anymore and Peter began to gradually inch his hand toward the holster strapped to his leg…

“That ain’t gonna happen. How about I make this clearer? Drop your weapons or we shoot the kid.”

The guy on the far left drew a pistol from his jacket and aimed at Peter’s head. Peter froze, his hand brushing the strap of his holster.

What happened next was so fast, he barely saw it. Everyone moved at once.

Porath ripped his pistol from its holster and fired two blasts, killing the man aiming at Peter and the one beside instantly, just as…

The big guy began to run towards Porath, drawing a knife from a sheath at the base of his back, just as…

Porath turned his weapon towards the charging giant…

The big guy reached out with his other hand and grabbed the side of Porath’s pistol, forcing it to the right…

Porath fired again, his shot missing the big guy, but striking the last thug on the right…

The big guy drew back his knife…

Porath raised his empty hand and pushed uselessly at the big guy’s shoulder…

The big guy thrust his knife into Porath’s stomach…

Porath fell to the ground…

And Peter opened his mouth to scream....

Porath’s blood was everywhere. It was thick and green and it had spilled all over the hands and jacket of the big guy. Peter could see the pool of blood growing from where Porath lay slumped, back to Peter, at the big guy’s feet.

“You quiet that noise, boy!” The big guy barked at him. Peter’s breath was coming in pants and gasps. He couldn’t take his eyes off Porath.

Porath wasn’t moving. The guy had stabbed him in the stomach. Peter couldn’t remember what Porath’s species had in their stomach. Peter couldn’t even remember what species Porath was. He couldn’t be dead, though. Because if he was dead it would be Peter’s fault.

“Now, boy. Throw your weapon on the ground and empty your pockets out or I’ll make sure he’s definitely dead.” The anger in the giant’s voice was audible. “He might yet survive a knife to the gut, but a shot to the head, that he won’t come back from.”

Even as he spoke, he aimed Porath’s own pistol down at his slumped form.

“Now, boy! You wait too long and I won’t need to shoot him.”

Peter didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t let Porath die. He carefully drew his own pistol and threw it onto the dusty ground. Then looked up at the man.

“I….”

His voice was small and cracked when he spoke. He felt himself blush red. He was so weak…

“Empty those pockets now, boy.”

“I don’t… I don’t have anything.”

He reached into his pockets and drew out the linings to show. There had been something gritty in his right pocket, and it had left course grains behind. He could feel them under his fingernails.

“You got _nothing_ , boy?” The big guy seemed even angrier at this, and Peter cringed down. He was going to die here. They were both going to die because he hadn’t picked up any units because Porath was taking _him_ for ice shakes. He felt his eyes prickle and he blinked the wetness there away as best he could.

“Fine then, get his pockets now.” The guy gestured down with the pistol at Porath’s bloody, slumped figure.

“Wh- What?!” Peter was horrified. Surely he didn’t mean…

“You simple boy?! Empty out his pockets.” The man seemed to be getting angrier and angrier as things didn’t go according to his plan. “Now.”

Peter took a deep breath and crawled forwards towards Porath. The guy stepped back as he approached, keeping the pistol trained on them.

Porath was lying on his side, away from Peter, and as Peter reached forwards to grasp his shoulder, he paused. What if he was dead? Peter couldn’t imagine Porath dead. He’d been there right from the start; when Peter was alone on a ship full of aliens and monsters, Porath been kind to him. He’d bought him ice spheres and let him come along on a stupid, easy mission because Peter had wanted to feel useful even though he just got in the way. And even on this 'safe' job, Peter might still have gotten him killed.

Decisively, he grasped Porath’s shoulder and pulled him over onto his back.

There was green blood everywhere. It had stained Porath’s red, ravager clothing black, and bits of grit and small stones from the dirt where Porath had been lying were stuck in it all down his side. Peter couldn’t even see the wound he knew was there, just a jagged tear in the fabric of his jacket. He looked away from it, afraid he might see Porath's insides.

Peter reached into the first pocket he saw, trying not to cringe at the blood smearing up his hand and wrist.

He glanced up at the man with the gun. “There’s- There’s nothing in this pocket.”

“Get the others then, boy. And you better start prayin’ you find something.”

The man’s gaze was cold. Peter could feel him watching as he searched each pocket on the ravager’s uniform. Each time he found nothing, he could feel his panic growing. He tried desperately to think of when Porath had paid earlier. Wait…

Peter reached up, unzipped Porath’s jacket and reached inside, there was a pocket there! He felt his fingers close around a data stick he knew held Porath’s units. He nearly collapsed in relief, but not before he noticed something else. Porath’s chest was moving; shallow breaths raising it gently up and down. Porath wasn’t dead.

Peter nearly threw the data stick at the man with the gun.

“Here! It’s his units. I don’t know how much, but, please… Can we go…? Please, he’s still alive. I could still save him. Please!”

Peter knew he was begging now, but he didn’t care. His tears had finally fallen, but it didn’t matter because maybe he hadn’t failed. Not completely. He’d let them be robbed and he’d let Porath get stabbed but there might still be time for them to get out alive.

The man bent slowly and picked up the stick to examine it. He didn’t lower his gun. Peter wanted to shout at him, scream for him to hurry up, couldn’t he see that Porath needed help?

Finally, the man spoke.

“He can go.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“He’s paid. He can go.”

Peter moved to stand, he needed to get Porath back to his ship somehow, needed to get them both back to Yondu’s ship, where someone might be able to help Porath.

“Not you boy.”

The man’s voice was soft, calmer now that he’d been paid, Peter guessed, but there was something darkly threatening there still.

“I- I don’t understand…” Peter stuttered out. And it was true, “You said we could go…”

“I said _he_ could go. He’s paid his way. _You_ , on the other hand, haven’t paid anything…”

“But- But he _can’t_ go… He’s hurt, he can’t leave without me…. Those units were for both of us…” Peter hated the whining tone his voice had taken on, but he didn’t understand. It wasn’t fair! “I don’t have anything else to pay you.”

“That right boy…?” The man’s voice was so soft now that Peter had to strain to hear him, even in the silence on the desert. “You’re more innocent than I reckoned then… Who is he to you?”

“What?” Peter was confused by the man’s words. Why was he suddenly asking now?

“He ain’t your family. That much is obvious from your colouring… Ain’t there some reason other reason he keeps you around? A pretty thing like you?”

Peter flushed bright red, suddenly realising what the man was saying. He thought that Peter… He thought that Porath…

“NO! He ain’t like that! Don’t you say a thing like that!” Peter felt hot and angry and embarrassed and Porath was still bleeding into the dirt behind him. “I need to take him to get help, please…”

The man was smirking now, his dark eyes trailed up and down Peter’s body, leaving some awful feeling in their wake.

“Tell you what, boy. You do what I say, and you and the old man can both go.” Peter knew what was coming. He wanted cry. This was a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening. “Come here, boy.”

The man gestured with the pistol to the ground in front of him. Peter couldn’t move. He couldn’t do it.Yet his body seemed to be moving of its own accord, walking him forwards. Peter paused when he reached the man, glancing up, uncertain of what to do next. Maybe the guy didn’t want… that. Maybe Peter had misunderstood…

“Kneel down, boy.” He hadn’t misunderstood. He felt fresh tears overflow and roll down his face. “Come now, boy. Enough fussing; it ain’t gonna be so bad. You might like it.”

The man’s smile was mocking and Peter glared back him. He wouldn’t like it. He knew he wouldn’t like it. He knelt. He could feel the pebbles on the ground pressing into his knees, even through the thick fabric of his pants. They hurt.

The guy tapped the top of his head to draw his attention,

“You do anything other’n what I tell you, you even _think_ of bitin’ me, and I will make you watch me kill him, before I kill you. You understand me?” Peter’s head nodded silently. His words were gone. His mind was utterly blank. Everything felt unreal. “Now open your mouth, boy.”

 

* * *

 

It was awful.

He threw up after, blue melted ice shake mixed in with… other stuff… He’d cried and the man had laughed, but Peter didn’t care because at least it was over, at least he had saved Porath. At least he could go home now. He wanted to get back to where it was safe, and where Yondu and Kraglin wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. He wanted Porath to be okay.

“You can go now. Here, take this.” The man threw down Porath’s data stick into the dirt next to Porath. “Consider it a tip. You weren’t bad kid.” The man laughed and walked off into the darkness, taking Porath’s pistol with him.

Peter scrambled across the dirt, rocks tearing the skin on his hands, and placed his hand gently in front of Porath’s face. He waited, silently begging to feel a breath against his hand. Porath couldn’t have died. Not while Peter was… No…

He felt it. A gentle movement of air over his palm, then another.

“You’re alive…” He was crying again and he was acting like a little kid with all this stupid crying, but Porath was alive! There was still time!

He stood, retrieved his pistol from where he had thrown it before, and returned, walking around the bodies of the men Porath had killed in the fight. Grasping at Porath’s jacket to begin to haul the man over his shoulder, he spotted the data stick on the ground…

A tip, was what the man had called it. Like he was paying Peter. Like Peter was a … a whore. If he took the units, would that make it true? But then they weren’t his to leave behind…

Peter snatched the units up and stuffed then back inside Porath’s jacket. Heaving the man onto his back was not easy, but he could just about manage the old man’s weight. He had no choice. He had to get back to the ship. He had done what he had done to save the old man… to save his friend… and he would be damned if he was going to waste his chance because he was too weak. It was his weakness that had gotten them into this mess…

 

* * *

 

 

Yondu was furious. Porath had been sent straight to the med bay, and Kraglin said he thought he was gonna be okay…

Apparently Deltans can lose 25% of their blood volume before they go into kind of stasis and slow their body right down (Apparently Porath was a Deltan). Means that he managed to make it back to the ship with time to spare, he could have taken a week and it would still have been fine.

Peter tries not to think on that. It probably wouldn’t have changed anything if he’d known. Probably…

Yondu had yelled and yelled and even whipped his arrow to right near Peter’s throat, his crest glowing red. He’d never done that to Peter before, Peter though detachedly, but then Peter had never messed up this bad before.

“I knew I should never’ve let you go, boy!" Yondu's face had darkened in anger, and his arrow whipped around to rest over Peter's jugular. "What good’s a Terran child in a fight? Answer me _that_ , boy!”

“Don’t call me ‘boy’!” The moment he said it, Peter could hardly believe he’d spit the words at Yondu. Judging by Yondu’s face, he couldn’t believe it either. “I’m not a child.” He added, more petulantly. 

“You’re a child until I say you’re not. _Boy_.” Yondu looked at him. Peter felt as though Yondu could see through him, see him proper. He wondered what Yondu saw. He felt a strange urge to hide himself, what if Yondu could tell... He looked away, focusing on the boot of the ravager to Yondu's left.

“Everyone out!” Yondu’s yell startled Peter. The crew weren’t expecting it either, judging by the confused moment before the ravagers started to file out of the hanger where they stood. Peter just wanted to get back to his bunk and wash Porath’s blood off of himself. He could feel it drying over his hands and down the side of his neck where it had smeared while he’d carried the unconscious Deltan. He started to leave as well…

“Not you, boy.” Peter stopped in place and turned back to Yondu. He was so tired.

“You want to explain this story of yours to me again, now?” Yondu sounded strange; there was an unfamiliar quality to his voice, something Peter hadn’t heard before. The Centaurian folded his arms and leaned back on a console, eyeing at Peter speculatively.

“‘Cause as I’m to understand it, you and Porath was robbed on the way back to the ship, he took out three of ‘em ‘fore gettin’ knifed, and you talked the last guy into just… lettin’ you go…?”

“Yeah…” Peter knew it wasn’t his best story but he’d been too busy getting them back to come up with anything else. “I had a gun…”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, boy, but you ain’t a real intimidating figure. Why was you even away from the ship in the first place?”

“I-… He… Porath took me to go get ice shakes…” Peter felt all of eight years old again. He couldn’t look at Yondu, keeping his eyes on a light blinking on a panel over Yondu’s shoulder.

“Ice shakes…?” Anything Yondu might have had to say way thankfully cut off by the sound of Kraglin opening the door to the hanger.

“Captain…?” Kraglin seemed unusually hesitant for some reason, glancing over at Peter before making his way to Yondu. He whispered something to Yondu that Peter couldn’t make out before handing him something small. Whatever it was was blocked from Peter’s view by Kraglin and he wasn’t stupid enough to think that that wasn’t on purpose. Kraglin glanced back at Peter, before leaving, something like worry in his eyes.

Peter wondered what Yondu was going to do to him. His punishments had always been tough before, scrubbing the floors and toilets, confined to his bunk, but this time… This time he had fucked up so bad maybe Yondu would actually hurt him. Or worse, maybe Yondu would make him leave, dump him on some planet and never look back. What would Peter do on a strange planet? He could pick pockets, sure, maybe run a con even though most he knew were two people at least…

 _You know what else people pay for…_ The thought flickered in his mind. _You’ve done it before after all…_

“Peter?” Peter glanced back to Yondu, and he saw what Kraglin had brought. The data stick of units. Shit. “If you was robbed… Why was Porath’s units still in his pocket?”

Peter stared at the data stick. They hadn’t been robbed. How could he be so stupid? Of course they hadn’t been robbed; they had walked away with everything they had started with (minus one pistol).

“I-...” What could he say? He couldn’t tell the truth. Not to Yondu. Not to anyone. “I-… I guess we wasn’t robbed…?”

“You guess you _wasn’t_ robbed?” Yondu sighed and rubbed his face, scrunching up his eyes. He looked weary. Peter absently wondered how old Yondu actually was. “Help me out here, boy. What are you not sayin’ here? ‘Cause I can’t think of nothin’ you could have done that’d convince a thug t’ let you ‘n’ Porath live after Porath killed three of his crew.”

Peter couldn’t think of anything either. He was too weak to have fought him and not near intimidating enough to have scared him off like he’d claimed. There was nothing he was good enough at. No useful skill or ability that would have helped him save his friend. It was sheer dumb luck that the guy had wanted to… have Peter do that. He was too weak to have done anything else.

“Peter…?” Yondu sounded tentative now, and wasn’t that a miracle. He must look pretty pathetic to have made Yondu feel the need to try and comfort him. “When you said you wasn’t hurt… was that true?”

Yondu’s gaze travelled up and down Peter, no doubt scanning for any sign of red blood amongst the green. Peter tried to hide his cringe at the look, it wasn’t similar to how the man had looked at him, not really. But still, he felt on display, like he wanted to go hide himself and not be seen again.

“I’m fine.” Peter knew his tone was too brittle and snappish to be convincing. But even as his story crumbled around him he knew he couldn’t have anyone know what he’d done. He couldn’t have anyone know how he’d debased himself and cried like a child. How he’d been sick after and how he’d wasted so much time before just _not_ _understanding_ while Porath had bled into the dirt.

“If-…” Peter had never heard Yondu hesitate before, “If you don’t want to tell me what happened… that’s alright… You’re here, Porath is here, the job got done… no-one got robbed…”

Peter looked up at Yondu then, disbelieving. He was letting it go. _Yondu_ was letting it go…

“But…” Peter looked away again, “At least go up to the med bay, and let Kraglin look you over. He ain’t never shared a secret with me that weren’t his to share.” Yondu finished with a meaningful look. “Promise me now, boy?”

It was as good as he’d get. Peter didn’t plan on telling Kraglin anything and he knew Yondu would check with the Xandarian, but it didn’t matter. Yondu had shown a chink in his armour by letting this go unexplained now and Peter was stubborn enough to use it.

“I promise.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It became a kind of back-up plan.

Peter knew it was twisted, that it wasn’t normal to be willing to blow a dude or get a chick off just to walk away easier, but Peter had always had to use the skills at his disposal. Turns out, Terrans are a bit more delicate than most other species in the galaxy and not everyone could be charmed to his point of view. Some species were a bit less susceptible to charisma and even worse, some beings, he was pretty sure, would never have considered him in that manner before he'd smiled at them right.

Still, he didn’t need to do it often. And not until years after that first time, once he had a wealth of experience under his belt (and under other peoples). Even when he did have to, he made damn sure never had to feel that helpless, that confused and scared and lonely again. Every time things seemed like they were going south in a way that was leading to the inevitable, Peter made sure he got there first. He batted his eyelashes and smiled knowingly and outright got down on his knees and reached for the other guy’s zipper if that’s what it took to get the message across; Peter Quill will fuck you if you let his friends go. Alive. Or his money. Or his ship. Or one awful time, his Walkman.

Every time it was his idea. No-one ever took anything he wasn’t offering as he always offered.

And he was fine with it. Really. If that was his superpower the he’d gladly use it wherever necessary. He knew he wasn’t really useful for much else. Not strong. Not smart. Not quick. Not intimidating. He’d known it every day with the ravagers after it’d happened. He’d spent months cowering at the bigger, stronger beings on the ship, knowing that if any one of them tried to make him, he’d have no choice but to go along with it.

He’d known he was smaller and weaker before, but that was in a more abstract sense. He’d had a kind of belief that maybe he’d grow out of it, sprout up a few feet and pack on a bunch of muscle and then he’d be unstoppable and all the ravagers would realise how tough he was. He’d truly been a child then, no matter how adult he’d thought he was.

He knew what it meant to be weak now. Knew that there were other ways to get things done, you didn’t always have to overpower the other guy, if you couldn’t give him what he wanted, then change what he wanted and then give him that.

He’d never let another ravager know what he was doing. Kraglin had checked him over, just as Yondu had asked. He’d been pretty thorough too, and that had been humiliating as hell, but he hadn’t found anything but scraped hands and bruised knees. Peter hadn’t really been hurt after all. Sure it had sucked, in a truly awful and humiliating way, but there had been no _real_ damage.

It had been years until he was on another job with the ravagers when he’d needed to do it again. And he’d been careful to make sure the others didn’t see, didn’t know. He’d sucked the guy off as quickly and quietly as he could, under the guise of ‘going to try and talk him round’ and he and the others had been free to leave with the goods instead of being shot in the head and dumped out an airlock. It had worked perfectly and he hadn’t even thrown up this time.

Of course it didn’t work every time. Not everyone was interested in what a Terran male had to offer and sometimes people got real offended when you implied they might have their minds changed by a whore (that was what he was after all – never for money, sure, but that wasn’t where the real distinction lay).

Peter had really only pick-pocketed the woman out of spite. He’d been having a really crappy day; one of the parts in the Milano’s back up life support was on the fritz and, while it was only his backup, it was his only backup. And for life support, you kinda wanted a reliable safety net. Even then, he’d had to go to Xandar to find the right part, and the dealer had been totally unwilling to haggle (which seemed fair enough when he was apparently the only guy in the known universe who sold _this particular_ part). Peter had tried his luck flirting with the dude, but the picture of a pretty, pink woman with a dribbling baby in a frankly alarming shade of violet had only confirmed what he suspected, the dealer wasn’t going to be interested in anything but Peter’s units.

So 30,000 units down the drain for a part he would hopefully never even use, he’d trudged through the well-kept public square, feeling pretty damn out of place in his ravager gear (stained with engine grease –not only was the part hard to find replacements for, it was hard to find in his own damn ship). As he glanced around, self-consciously zipping his jacket up to hide the worst of the stains, his eyes landed on a pretty pink woman. A pretty pink woman pushing a pram, in which sat a bright, violet baby, cooing up at her.

What were the damn odds? It looked like today he would be presented with one of his favourite opportunities, the chance to get someone back. He moved as casually as he could, trying to get a better view of what the woman was carrying as he set himself on course to brush past her. She had a green bag at her side, a likely place to carry units, and far easier to pick-pocket than any actual pocket.

This would be so damn easy.

And it was. He brushed past her, dipped his hand into her bag, grabbed a data stick, slid it into his own pocket, sidled past, turned to head in the direction of his ship, and walked straight into a Nova Corps officer.

“Aw, shit!”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” The officer didn’t look particularly angry, almost amused, he’d clearly seen the whole thing go down and had waited for Peter to incriminate himself. What an A-hole.

“Is that necessary? Really?” Peter had stuff to do today. He didn’t have time for this crap. The part for his ship was resting in his pocket and if he didn’t go put the new one in soon, he’d forget where he got the old one from and be totally screwed. “Can’t I just, you know, give it back?”

“Sorry,” The officer didn’t sound sorry. He turned Peter and drew his arms behind him and into restraints. “Step over here with me, please.”

He led Peter over to a Nova corps patrol vehicle, parked not twenty feet from where they were standing.

“How in the hell did I miss that?” Peter wondered aloud. Yondu was going to kill him when he heard about this. God, he was such a fucking idiot.

The officer clearly agreed, as he let out an undignified snort of laughter and pushed Peter down onto the bench inside the vehicle, shutting the door behind them.

“Right, what’s your name?”

“Star-Lord.” It was going to catch on. Peter might as well get something out of this, and the name was awesome. If he could get the Nova Corps to start calling him by it, it would definitely catch on.

“I’m not calling you that.” Damn it. “What’s your name?”

“Um, Peter Quill. Peter Jason Quill. Look I’ve really got stuff to be doing, are you sure there’s no way to just let this one slide? It was only pick-pocketing and I’m sure you’ve got better things to be-“

“I’m afraid it’s not ‘only pick-pocketing’.” Peter could hear the quotation marks round the words. “The data stick you stole had over one hundred thousand units on it.” Wait, what? “As I’m sure someone like yourself knows, any theft that large would be punishable with a prison sentence.”

No. No, no no. He hadn’t known that many units would be on it. They couldn’t punish him for it if he hadn’t known. Could they? He didn’t know. Shit.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I could do?” He’d rather do this subtly as possible. The law officers were always the most hesitant and easy to spook. Especially the Nova Corps guys.

“I’m afraid not.” The guy’s back was turned now as he inputted something into a data terminal. Presumably his report into the incident. Peter had to stop him before he sent it or he’d be on the system and it would be too late.

“I mean, I’d really do anything to get out of this, Officer.” The guy stopped typing and turned round to look down at him. Maybe the guy had an authority kink? Worth a shot. “Please, sir?” He tilted his chin down just a touch and looked up through his eyelashes. Perfect.

“What are you doing?” Or not. Trust his luck to get the dumb rookie who didn’t get it.

Fuck it. If he was going away anyway, might as well add ‘propositioning an officer of the Nova corps’ to the charges. He slipped down off the bench as gracefully as he could (with his hands restrained behind him, he bashed his knee off the floor harder than he was planning and winced).

“Come on, man, I can help you out and maybe you can help me out?” He moved to shuffle forwards and get within a range he could work with, but the officer backed up so far Peter thought he might have climbed clear on top of the data terminal if Peter hadn’t stopped.

“Are you-… Are you offering to-…? I-…” The guy looked horrified. Clearly Peter had made an error here and he may very well have screwed himself in the process. Damn he was such a fucking moron sometimes.

“Aw shit, man. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare _me_? I mean-… What in the stars made you think that would work?”

“Worked before. I mean-…” Great now he’d told the guy there were other charges he’d dodged. “Not that I was ever-… It was only minor stuff, like; they didn’t need to _actually_ charge me minor; vandalism, he was just a nova asshole. I mean-… Not that the Nova Corps are-… I’m gonna shut up now. Yeah.”

Peter Quill: disaster.

The officer looked a little confused. Which, of all the reactions he could have has to that bit of verbal diarrhoea, was far from the worst thing that could have happened.

He hauled Peter up and sat him back down on the bench before sitting beside him.

“Do you mean to tell me that Nova Corps officers coerced sexual favours from you in exchange for not charging you for _vandalism_? A crime for which the first offence would normally be punishable only with an official warning?”

“A warning…?” Peter looked over at the officer, noticing he actually looked a little pale. He felt kinda bad for the guy, clearly he was new at this. “Huh… I didn’t know that. Well, I guess I bought myself another first offence…”

The officer made a strange strangled noise.

“Do you remember the name of the officer? It should still be possible to bring charges if you want to.”

“Why would I want charges…?”

“I mean, it’s up to you of course, but if he’s tried this with you then there’s a good chance he’s tried it wi-”

“You meant against him?!” This was not going at all how Peter had planned and he really wasn’t sure how to play it. At least the guy had stopped inputting his data.

“Of course, I-… Mr Quill, a Nova Officer sexually assaulted you. You understand that that is what you are describing to me?”

No. Peter hadn’t been a victim here. He’d told himself he’d never be a victim again and he’d made damn sure of it. He’d been the one to suggest the deal. He’d been the one to go through with it. So, he hadn’t really been in any danger of being shipped off to the Kyln, so what? It didn’t change anything.

“I don’t want to charge anyone with anything.”

“Are you sure? Because like I said, you may not be the only victim that-“

“I said no!” Peter didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to listen to this man anymore. He wasn’t a victim.

“Okay.” The officer held up his hands, placating. “That’s okay… Can you hold still for me while I take off the restraints?”

“Wh-.. Sure…” Why was he taking off the restraints?

“In light of the fact you didn’t know how many units were involved, it doesn’t seem fair to treat this theft as anything more than a pickpocketing offence.” Somehow, everything was going his way… He hadn’t done anything to earn this reprieve. He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t going to turn it down though.

“As this is your first offence on _Xandar_ ,” He said with a pointed glance at the list of other systems Peter had ‘offences’ on record from, “And as you are _just_ under twenty-one Terran cycles, and therefore not yet considered a Terran adult, I will let you go with an official warning.”

“Thank you! Thanks so mu-”

“But,” Of course there were conditions. He’d been foolish to hope; there were always conditions. “You must promise me you will not let any member of the Nova Corps, or anyone else for that matter, get away with taking advantage of you like that again. You report them, you understand me? Just because you’ve been in trouble with the law, doesn’t mean it won’t protect you too. And if you change your mind about reporting what’s happened, just give me a call. Promise?”

It was kind of awkward how earnest he was; Peter wasn’t sure he could handle that much sincerity in such an enclosed space. He knew he would never call, but if he wanted out, he could go along with it.

He took the card with the officer’s details and glanced down. Rhomann Dey; Nova Corps. He looked back up to see Dey watching him closely.

“I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

It had sucked when Rocket told him the leg wasn’t really part of the plan.

Later, he had realised, of course it had been a joke. Of course Rocket hadn’t expected him to suck a guy off just to get the stupid leg. What self-respecting being does that, after all? It was Peter’s fault, _really_. For being such a dumbass that he’d believed him. For not knowing what else to do when the guy said no (they were in prison after all – it wasn’t like he had access to his units to pay the guy (and he still can’t believe none of the Guardians had questioned that)).

It was best that the others didn’t know. This 'Guardians' thing was still so new and his place in the group still so fragile. He hadn’t really expected to gather a bunch of misfits in his ship and fly around saving the world, but then it wasn’t really something that you planned ahead for.

Still, his place in the team was pretty fucking tenuous at best and he knew it.

Rocket was a wizard with weapons and, he discovered later, all kinds of machinery in the bowels of his ship. It stung a little to realise that the ship he’d been flying for over a decade liked someone else better. Which was ridiculous, but that’s how it felt sometimes when Rocket scampered through the small spaces in the ships inner workings with such ease.

Peter had always had to fight and sweat and squeeze his way in there to change the random parts that seemed to keep crapping out on him, and he’d never managed it without emerging covered in grease and usually bleeding in a couple of place where the ship had fought back.

Still, it kind of made sense, he conceded begrudgingly, Rocket was much smaller and smarter and better with machines; it just made sense that he could go where Peter didn’t really fit and could do seemingly instinctively procedures that had Peter swearing and confused (and occasionally, when he got really desperate, calling Spix shame-faced, needing help).

Gamora was beautiful and deadly. Her reputation might have caused problems in the Kyln, but there was advantages to having such a famous badass on the team. Peter knew Gamora didn’t think much of him, he’d tried to share his music and had gotten shut down pretty hard after all, but he lived in awe of her every day.

Still there was one thing, Rocket had alluded to it in the Kyln, and Drax had said it outright on Ronan’s ship; people thought Gamora was a whore. They thought she used her body however she needed to in order to get the job done. Peter had known better; Gamora, for all her crimes, hadn’t used her body the way he had. She didn’t need to. Peter wanted to scream every time someone called her whore. Couldn’t they see how much better she that that she was? How much better than him? 

Drax was huge in a way that made Peter wary. He couldn’t help it, he’d never liked being around people so much bigger than him. Drax was more than useful to the Guardians, he was a brutal and deadly fighter, and he was strong willed and driven enough to carry on, even when it seemed like they were really, really screwed. Drax was also intimidating as hell, and it had been really useful more than once to avoid having to have the fight at all.

But what their enemies didn’t realise was that Drax was also sweet and funny (even if he still didn’t understand why people were laughing) and loved stronger and more determinedly than anyone Peter had even known.

Groot was gloriously useless at the moment. Peter knew he was the worst fucking person ever when he took solace in the fact that he was more useful than a being who had been almost fatally injured only months before. But he could carry more than Groot. He could fight better than Groot. He could walk around and Groot was trapped in his pot.

Except, Groot was growing by the day now, nearly three feet tall and almost ready to leave his pot (according to what Rocket had translated – Peter still wasn’t totally sure that Rocket wasn’t just making some of his translations up). It really wouldn’t be long before Groot was bigger, stronger, faster and better than Peter. And he knew it didn’t take much to be better than Peter, but Peter was sort of hoping that maybe he’d be better than a plant at least, and he really was the most petty, jealous asshole ever for thinking it.

Peter tried to find a place, he really did. He’d brought his music to share with the others, but they’d seen it as a temporary diversion at best, and they liked it quiet sometimes (judging from the way they would ask if he could _please_ listen through the headphones, Peter, you’re driving everyone mad).

He’d pilot the ship whenever he could, but she’d betrayed him again because he wasn’t really any better than any of the others, even though he’d been flying her for years.

He’d tried to set himself up as a kind of team manager; coming up with their plans and running herd on the rest while they did what they did better than he could. He wasn’t very good at it. The team could come up with their own plans without him, and no-one had liked it when he’d tried to keep tabs on them all during a few of their missions.

He didn’t know what to do. Everything could be done far better by someone else. He pretty much was only on the team because they operated out of his ship. And that was probably just to save the inconvenience of having to find another one.

The last mission, he’d decided he had to make himself useful, no matter what. He needed to not to reach the end of it, knowing that, without him, it would have gone almost exactly the same.

Maybe even better.

He’d seen an opportunity during their retreat (stolen data in hand), when Drax and Gamora had been pinned down, behind a crappy old hover-car that had long since quit hovering, by weapons fire from the terrorists they’d recently relieved of their data. Rocket was next to him, just inside the (far better) cover of the woods, frantically trying to unjam his ridiculous gun. He’d built it yesterday and, while it worked awesome when it fired properly, something seemed to be causing it to jam every fifth shot or so. Rocket wasn’t pleased.

“Stupid, fucking, piece of crap!”

There was no way the others could cross the ground between their cover and the tree line with the terrorists’ constant barrage of fire. It was all they could do to return fire and keep them from advancing closer (even these terrorists seemed to the smart enough to avoid coming close enough to end up fighting Drax or Gamora hand to hand).

“Rocket, is there any way to get than damn gun working?” Peter was wildly returning fire, but his pistol was far from powerful enough to break through the enemy’s cover.

“Damn, stupid, fucking thing is fucking jammed, Quill! I need to un-jam it!” Rocket’s hands were ripping pieces out of the gun now. They looked pretty important to Peter, like maybe they shouldn’t be ripped out and thrown on the ground like that, but he wasn’t the weapons expert so…

“No! Come on, please, no!” Rocket had stopped and was staring at the gun, head in his hands.

“What?! Come on Rocket, we need that gun or they’re dead!”

“Quill, it’s-…” Rocket sounded broken, “It jammed and the next shot must’ve split the barrel. I can’t fix it…” He looked up at Peter hopelessly. “I can’t fix it.”

Peter looked over at where the terrorists’ fire was slowly chipping away at Drax and Gamora’s cover. He looked back to the terrorists who, unable to spot Peter and Rocket amongst the dense trees in the darkness of the woods, were simply firing and firing at where the two Guardians they could locate.

“They’re not gonna make it over here.” Peter knew it was true; not without Rocket’s gun to distract the terrorists from their barrage. Distract.

Peter knew he could do it. It made sense, there was one of him and two of them. It was a good deal.

(He would have done it for one of them in a heartbeat, he knows. It isn’t simply the needs of the many versus the few, it’s the needs of the great versus the weak. But something about that line of thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. It isn’t the weak. It’s just him.)

“Take my pistol.” He shoved it into Rocket’s hands before the racoon had time to react more than a startled “Wha-”

Peter ran up the tree line as far as he could get, between the source of the gunfire and the trapped Guardians ( _his friends_ ). He could hear Rocket shouting his name, but he kept running until he had reached at the end of the cover the woods provided.

Then he simply stepped out of the cover and started running.

He had planned a path roughly. He needed to draw their fire to him, but make sure that any stray shots were not going to hit anyone important. He also knew he probably wouldn't get very far, so every step had to count.

The second he stepped out from the tree line, the terrorists diverted their fire onto him. He made it three steps before he was hit. It was a shoulder wound, a graze really, so he kept going and managed another few strides before something made of white hot pain ripped through his right thigh. He felt himself fall to the ground. His vision was a riot of colour and he could’t really make sense of the noise in his ears so he could only hope that Drax and Gamora had taken their chance. The mission would be completed, the data recovered and all the important Guardians can go on to Guard another day.

It was the best solution, he told himself at he felt his eyes slide closed (it didn’t make much difference – his vision had greyed out anyway).

It was the best way to solve everything.


End file.
